That morning, the city woke slowly, like a child refusing to leave its bed. Fog lay over the streets, and the sea's voice came in fragments, like an old sigh repeating itself again and again.
Aser sat in a small café by the harbor, staring through glass covered in dew. He held an open book, but his eyes refused to stay on the page. He would read a line, then drift off, chasing something hidden beyond the words.
It had been this way for a while. He moved through life on the edges—collecting books, filling notebooks with messy lines, sitting in cafés—yet rarely feeling alive.
Life played out In front of him like a silent film, and he was stuck in the audience, watching without a word.
Then he saw her.
She was sitting at the far corner of the café, her back to the window, a book in her hands. Nothing about her stood out at first glance. And yet, something about her silence caught him.
Her stillness wasn't ordinary. She was reading, yes—but her eyes weren't trapped in the words.
Something stirred in him. It wasn't attraction or desire, not exactly. It was more like her presence completed the picture—the fog, the sea, the café. None of it felt whole until she was there.
He reached for his coffee. It had gone cold. He laughed under his breath.
"Even the coffee reflects my stillness."
At that moment, she lifted her head.
Her eyes met his—not on purpose, but like someone waking from a short dream and finding herself observed. She said nothing. Her face didn't change.
Still, Aser felt the weight of her silence.
He dropped his gaze to his book, but his heart stayed caught in her look.
It was like a verse suspended in silence.
Unease filled him.
For a second, their eyes were two open windows, facing the same quiet.
Her blink came a little late, as though deciding whether to close the distance or leave It untouched. His fingers shook over the page. He pressed his hand flat on the table to steady himself.
There was no judgment In her eyes, no reproach—just a calm mystery that made him feel exposed, as if she had read a secret part of him.
The seconds stretched into forever. Sweat cooled on his temples. His breath grew heavier. He wanted to look away, but some force held him there.
Her gaze shifted slowly. Still on him, but now sending a signal he couldn't read. Was it curiosity? Or an unspoken admission that fate had brought them into the same moment?
He thought about smiling. Just a small smile to break the silence. But his lips stayed frozen.
She moved her hand, raising the book slightly as if to shield herself. The gesture cut him. Was he intruding? Was he a stranger trespassing on her quiet world?
He bent lower over his own book, pretending the moment was nothing. But his heart kept pounding, stubborn and loud.
He looked again. She was still "reading," or pretending to. Her hands trembled slightly. Did she feel it too? Or was his mind inventing everything?
He pulled out his notebook. The pen scratched a few scattered words: "Fog… window… eyes without permission."
But the last phrase felt too heavy. He slammed the notebook shut, as If caught in weakness.
His phone rang suddenly, breaking the silence. It was Youssef, his old friend. Aser hesitated, then hit mute. He wasn't ready to leave this moment behind.
Outside, the fog began to fade, and the sea grew clear. Sunlight cut through the café windows, scattering across the tables.
That was when he noticed she was leaving. She closed her book, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stood. He wanted to speak, to say anything—but no words came.
She walked past him toward the door. For a brief moment, the air around him shifted—heavier and lighter at once. She didn't look at him. He watched until she vanished into the fog at the end of the street.
He stayed long after she was gone. The fog, the sea, the café—none of them felt the same. Something inside him had moved, as though he had just woken from a long sleep.